


Hearts are Wild Creatures

by obsessivelyintrigued



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Clark, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Light BDSM, M/M, Married Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Spanking, Top Bruce, brucetopsclark2k17, in which Clark puts the 'power' in power bottom, use of power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 04:25:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11140980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivelyintrigued/pseuds/obsessivelyintrigued
Summary: And maybe Bruce finally heard the desperation in his voice. Or maybe he too had turned desperate. But he finally stands up, hands dragging along the length of Clark's torso only to rest on the waistband of his boxers and Clark is suddenly hyper-aware of everything he does. The slightly raised rhythm of his heart, the soft thud as his feet hits the cold floor of their bedroom. The exhalation of each breath. The way the moonlight hits one side of his face, casting a shadow on the other and Clark once again wonders if this is how Bruce Wayne and the Batman resides in one person - the other casted to the light of the world, the other hidden within the shadows of the night that even the moonlight cannot pierce through.Clark swallows before giving his lover a nod and Bruce removes the garment off of him like he’s unwrapping his first ever gift.





	Hearts are Wild Creatures

**Author's Note:**

> I always feel weird when I read fics when there’s little to no preparation and lube. So kids, prep and lube = important.

 

_“Hearts are wild creatures...”_

 

Clark panted,  the ghost of Bruce's warm breath on his nape like a hot brand that holds a dark promise.  
  
He feels the wedding band in his finger. Heavy, unyielding, it feels like closing in on his finger and he gasps. _Oh yes, right there, Bruce._  
  
A hand snakes up to his chest, fingers almost languidly gliding across the grooves of his muscles and Clark stops it with a hand. Turning his head to the side, he whispers, "Kiss me."  
  
And Bruce was there, all soft lips and sharp teeth; devouring his mouth like it's his only food, swallowing his moans like it will quench his thirst. Clark pulls him in, twisting his body so he now lies in his back and Bruce pulls away to trail kisses on his neck.  
  
He nips at his collarbone, and places a reverent kiss in the hollow between them and Clark feels a tingling sensation run through his spine and straight down to his cock. Raising his legs, he wraps them around his lover's slim waist and whispers his name.  
  
Bruce’s muffled groans vibrates in his neck, grinding their hips and Clark is having an inkling that he might just come from this and he’s torn if he likes it to end that way or not. With Bruce grinding his hips down just like _that - Ah-again, Bruce_ , the friction of their cocks rubbing with only the thin fabric of their boxers separating them.  
  
Clark slides a hand down his back, slowly, mapping each raised ridge of scar. He knows the stories they tell, knows it all by heart and mind. His finger ran over a circular scar, thin and almost faded - bullet scar, from a bank robber who got lucky in the early years - and Bruce bit back a groan when he lightly presses down on it. He feels a harsh nip on his neck, then lips - those soft yet fierce pair of lips nibbling at the lobe of his ear.  
  
Arching his back, Clark rests a hand on the small of his lover's back - a hint of a demand; a demand that Bruce is fully aware of. Clark breathes in then whispers, "Bruce- _come on_ , please."  
  
Bruce hums, his tongue tracing the length of Clark's jaw. "Please what?"  
  
"Please don't tease me."  
  
Bruce finds his hand, their rings clinking as he crosses their fingers together and Clark finds himself staring at those hazel eyes. He had seen that look in them before yet every time he sees it directed at him - he feels like air was punched out of his lungs.  
  
Clark closes the distance between their lips and sighs in the kiss. Bruce raises their clasped hands above his head and he responds by gripping it tighter, letting Bruce map his mouth with his tongue again - like he hadn’t done it before, like he’s doing it again for the first time and he has all the time in the world and Clark _loves_ it. Loves every stroke of his tongue, the touch of stubble and the hot breaths in his cheek, that taste in his tongue that is _so_ Bruce it physically hurts. Loves that Bruce’s lips are on his - kissing him like it’s the only thing he would ever do, like its his damn job, like he was born for it. Clark gasps, then breaks the kiss and throws his head back when Bruce palms his erection, a loud moan escaping from his parted lips.

 

“Bruce, _please_.”

 

And maybe Bruce finally heard the desperation in his voice. Or maybe he too had turned desperate. But he finally stands up, hands dragging along the length of Clark's torso only to rest on the waistband of his boxers and Clark is suddenly hyper-aware of everything he does. The slightly raised rhythm of his heart, the soft thud as his feet hits the cold floor of their bedroom in the lakehouse, the exhalation of each breath, the way the moonlight hits one side of his face, casting a shadow on the other and Clark once again wonders if this is how Bruce Wayne and the Batman resides in one person - the other casted to the light of the world, the other hidden within the shadows of the night that even the moonlight cannot pierce through. Clark swallows, giving his lover a nod and Bruce removes the garment off of him like he’s unwrapping his first ever gift.

 

And Bruce had done it before, so many times before. He, himself had done it before. But doing it _now_ feels different; the act isn’t new, but it feels… different. And Clark thinks this is right, better… _raw yet delicate._

 

Clark sits up and rids Bruce of the garment that now does nothing to hide his lover’s erection. He grasp it in his hand; heavy and thick and _throbbing_ and Clark wants it in.

 

Bruce closes his eyes, raising a hand to card his fingers through Clark’s soft, dark curls. A small gasp escapes his lips when Clark takes his cock in his mouth, tongue lapping at the precum before he sucks the head and Bruce opens his eyes to find his lover staring up at him; blue eyes almost glowing at the pale cast of moonlight and Bruce feels a tug in his chest and something _else_ running through his veins. The gold band in his finger a stark contrast against the dark of Clark’s hair.

 

Moaning, Clark briefly closes his eyes when the grip in his hair tightens. He pulls back for a moment, stroking before taking Bruce’s cock back in his mouth again; slowly, until the head hits the back of his throat and Clark groans at the sensation, swallowing when Bruce lets out a low moan above him.

 

He tightens his lips and sucks, slowly, dragging it out and Clark revels at the way Bruce leans down on him, hand grasping his shoulder and his mouth falling open in a silent shout. A wet, popping sound emanates in the room and Clark licks his lips, humming at the taste and does it again. Clark fondles his balls in one hand and feels Bruce’s knees buckle, the hand in his hair gripping tighter.

 

Bruce moans his name and it was music to Clark’s ears, he shifts his legs wider and slips a hand between his legs, stroking his own cock. He hums in encouragement as Bruce thrust shallowly in his mouth, the crown of his cock hitting the back of his throat over and over, making him moan louder each time.

 

The stare he receives from Bruce was almost predatory and a smile tugs at his lips that Bruce fucks out of his face. A dribble of precum hits his tongue and he swallows, his eyes closing at the taste. He flattens his tongue on the underside of Bruce’s cock, on the thick vein that throbs in every slide in and out of his mouth.

 

Then Bruce places a hand in his jaw and pulls out, dragging Clark up for a kiss and moaning at his taste on his lover’s mouth. Clark finds his hand and guides it on the small of his back, squirming when Bruce slips a finger in the crack of his ass.

 

Pulling back, Bruce carefully guides him back to the bed, slotting himself between Clark’s spread legs. Clark looks beautiful like this. He’s regal and gorgeous and _bright_ in the air, with his red cape billowing in the wind. He’s fierce and strong and almost invulnerable in the field, throwing punches and not stopping even as he takes blows that would kill any lesser hero. But here, here he is simply _beautiful;_ his chiseled chest smooth and pale, the column of his neck soft and his pulse beating- _begging_ for his lips on it, his features painted with pleasure and that mouth, _oh_ what that _mouth_ can do, and each sound that escapes past those sweet lips- Bruce doesn’t think there would be any other word to describe Clark at any moment than _beautiful._

 

Clark sighs at the small kisses on the length of his neck, the nibbling in his earlobe- whispers of sweet _everythings_ and moans at the sucking on his pulse point, gasps at the soft bites and blow of breaths in each of his nipple. He closes his eyes, and drinks in the sensation of Bruce’s lips - gentle and reverent on his body and there’s still that tiny gust of thought in each peck that he might break, that he might run, that _he might be gone again_ and Clark is all too aware that that will never go away. The numbing thought that one of them could lose each other and each trace of lips and every touch of a hand is them engraving one another into their memories. _This is Batman,_ he thinks, _that mouth can shut even the bravest of heroes up and make the man of steel go pliant with each touch._

 

“Open your eyes,” Bruce whispers, “Look at me, Clark.”

 

Bruce links their hands again, kissing the ring in his finger and Clark feels like his ribs are closing in on his fast-beating heart at the sight. Bruce kisses him again- once, chaste; then moves down the length of his body and gives his cock a gentle suck on the head.

 

“ _Bruce._ ”

 

Humming, Bruce takes it further to his mouth, his teeth softly scraping at the sensitive skin when he pulls back. He rests his cheek on Clark’s thigh and hears the man sigh above him as he plants feather-light kisses on the creamy skin.

 

Clark’s leg fall open and he lets out a broken moan when Bruce licks at his entrance, his stubble a tingling fire in his thighs. He thrusts into the mouth licking him open, groaning in frustration when Bruce pinned him on the bed with a hand on his hips.

 

Bruce swirls his tongue on the puckered hole, sucking and licking until the first ring of muscles loosen under his ministrations. Clark was a moaning mess above him, one hand at the verge of ripping the sheets and the other still holding unto his hand tightly. He was always so sensitive here and Bruce knows that, knows that even a simple lap from his hole up to the head of his cock will make Clark come given the right timing; when he was so coiled up he was a writhing mess on the sheets, his head thrown back, forehead damp with sweat and his curls a dark crown on his head. When everything about him is so bright Bruce feels like covering his eyes at the sight but doesn’t because the look of pure bliss on Clark’s face - his mouth open and neck taut as he throws his head back, his eyes squeezed shut - is enough for him to come.

 

Clark bucks against him and he pins the man down on the bed harder, his tongue moving in and out relentlessly and he feels Clark squirm in his face, whining.

 

“Please, Bruce-” Clark managed to gasp out, his chest heaving- “Please don’t stop.”

 

He leans on his elbow to watch Bruce between his legs and finds the man looking up at him. Bruce licks around his hole, tighten his lips and _sucks_ making Clark whimper, brow furrowing as he strains to keep his eyes open. He removes the hand pinning him on the bed and kisses the palm before putting two fingers in his mouth, closing his eyes when Bruce groans in approval. He sucks at the fingers in his mouth, mirroring Bruce’s movements and swirls his tongue, wetting each digit before Bruce pulls his fingers out and traces them in his ass, pushing a finger in along with his tongue.

 

Clark throws his head back, chest heaving as Bruce continues to fuck him with his fingers. Then he was kissing Clark’s exposed neck, pulling his fingers out.

 

“Bruce,” He places a hand on Bruce’s chest, over his hammering heart then up his arms, maneuvering him so he’s the one lying on his back. Clark wants to see him under the moonlight, wants to see the shifts in his features highlighted by the silent, watchful rays of moonlight and Bruce lets him.

 

He reaches over to the nightstand for lube, handing it to Bruce who warms the liquid in his hands before pushing his fingers inside him again. Clark leans down to kiss him, caressing the column of Bruce’s neck with one hand as he uses the other to hold himself up. He feels Bruce scissoring his fingers, opening him up slowly and carefully - even though they both know he won't break. It was slow nights like this when Bruce is so slow and gentle. When everything falls off of his shoulders and his silence is not one of a bat perched and patiently waiting to breach enemy space but that of a man weary of the world but still does not forget to give and allows himself to have- to take only with explicit permission. Clark whimpers in his lips, cradling Bruce's head in his hand, fingers threading through the locks. Only breaking the kiss when Bruce repeatedly hits that one spot, making him moan in the space between their parted lips.

 

“ _Bruce,”_ He moans his name on the man’s ear, hips gyrating, “I’m ready. Please.”

  
And Bruce surges up to him for another fierce kiss, keeping him close with a hand on the small of his back. He teases the length of his cock along the crack on Clark's ass, making him whine in the kiss; biting at Bruce's lower lip until the man gasps and pushes his cock inside him.  
  
Heaving deep breaths and palms resting on the hard chest under him- fingers splaying over the marred skin left by a burn, Clark sinks in until he feels Bruce's hips in his ass; the thick girth opening him up and Clark lets out a deep sigh, his own heart beating loud and fast in his ears.  
  
He revels at the rising and falling of Bruce's chest beneath his palms, that furrow in his brow and the sweat breaking on his forehead. Their skin hot against one another and Clark leans down, rocking his hips and blows a cold breath at Bruce's exposed neck. He watches, rapt at the goosebumps breaking along his skin.

 

 _“Damn it,”_ Bruce cursed, eyes closed and his head turned to the side, _“Kal.”_

 

And that- that name on his lips. Bruce isn’t one who usually prays but that- Clark hears that like something akin to a prayer, an utterance filled with something real and pure and significantly intangible. _But for him- his name on those lips._ He rocks his hips harder, taking a calloused hand and places it on his waist, a silent request: _touch me_ and Bruce doesn't need to be told _twice._ And both of his hands hold him, running along his thighs as he moves up and down above him, encouraging- _yes, that’s good, you’re doing_ so _good_. Thumb tracing the v of his hips and Clark gasps, thrusting down harder, _faster,_ and yes, _Bruce, move._

 

Leaning down, Clark gasps when Bruce holds him close, his dick trapped between their bodies as the vigilante thrusts up to him- the force of each wringing sounds out of Clark that he muffles in the crook of his husband’s neck.

 

“Fu- _Bruce,_ yes, oh God, Bruce-” Clark says between gasps and moans and whines. He fists his hands on the sheets and raises himself up. He stares up at the ceiling, clenching his jaw then squeezes his eyes shut- “Oh, that feels so good.”

 

A pair of hands roam his body and he continues to move, _faster._ Clenching his ass on the thick shaft inside him until he hears those grunts turn into a deep groan and Clark feels the hand in his body stopping in its tracks to hold onto him. And he was suddenly aware of the whorls on those fingertips like a stamp in his unmarred skin; thoughts of being marked swimming in his mind.

 

Then Bruce sits up and puts his arms around him, staring deep into his eyes. Clark closes his and rests their foreheads together, hands buried in Bruce’s hair; gripping it tightly when Bruce kept hitting his prostate, making him moan in each thrust. And Bruce must’ve felt the frown creasing his forehead and stops, pulling out of him and pours more lube in his cock.

 

Clark lays in his stomach beside him, stretching out and groaning almost impatiently. Then Bruce was moving above him, trailing kisses on his back, hands on his ass with his long fingers splayed possessively on each cheek. Clark looks at him over his shoulders, _“Spank me.”_

 

Bruce lets out a low chuckle, sitting back in his heels before hitting Clark’s plump ass; just as he requested, just as he likes it. _Hard- once, twice_ ; the sound a rich reverberation that combines with Clark’s loud and indulging moans erupts on the room and Bruce presses a light kiss on the slightly reddened cheeks before pushing his cock back in.

 

Burying his face in the sheets, Clark whines at the steady rhythm that Bruce has established, only heightening the sensations from the spanking. His toes curling in pleasure and he grips the edge of the bed tighter, sure that he will rip the material open if Bruce doesn’t stop but- _please, don’t ever stop._ He began moving back, meeting each thrust with his own then Bruce shifts and the angle kept hitting his prostate making Clark scramble, moaning and reaching behind him to touch Bruce, his back arching. Bruce leans down on him, chest against his back; he removes Clark’s hands in his thigh, raises it above them and covers both with his.

 

“Clark,” Bruce says, his breaths coming in short pants as his hips moves erratically, “ _Clark._ ”

 

Clark turns, lips brushing against Bruce’s stubble, “Say my name-” Bruce grips his wrist, pushing down on him- “Say my name.”

 

Groaning, Bruce kisses his neck then whispers, “Kal.”

 

He clenches his ass around him, throwing his head back on his shoulders, “Louder, Bruce.”

 

“Fuck-” Bruce cursed, grinding his hips while Clark clenches around him, _“Kal,_ you feel so good. Fuck yes, _Kal_ \- just like that. _”_

 

Clark moans at the sound of his name, keeping Bruce close with a hand on his neck. The man groans in his ear, his thrust faltering then going harder, making him see white behind his eyelids, that familiar coil tightening in his abdomen- pulling the strings in his spine that holds his mind- preventing it from falling to the precipice of pleasure.

 

Then suddenly he was facing Bruce and he feels a shiver run along his skin at the sight; he looks _utterly_ debauched, his cock thick and heavy between his legs before he pushes back into the tight heat of Clark’s ass. His bangs hanging low in his damp forehead accentuated by the greying in his temple. His cheeks flushed and chest glistening from exertion. His half-lidded eyes regarded Clark, licking his lower lips before diving in for a kiss and Clark hears the strong thumping of his heart matching the rhythm of the one in his chest- beating wildly like it wants to break out of his ribs, out into the open and with Bruce.

 

_“...that’s why our ribs are cages.”_

 

Wrapping his legs around Bruce’s waist, he holds his breath as he was filled again. Letting out a low moan that Bruce swallows in a kiss when he began to move. Clark wraps his arms around his neck, pushing his tongue past his lips. Their hearts beating against each other and Clark arches his back, senses going in a frenzy at every thrust that hits his prostate. He was gasping in the kiss, only to pull away and throw his head back. And _Bruce-_ leaves sucking and wet kisses along his neck, his jaw, _biting_ at the crook of his neck and shoulders and he was _so-_

 

 _“Bruce-”_ Clark gasps, opening his eyes only to see the stars painting the night sky and he has never been more thankful for _glass walls;_ it’s breathtaking, _this_ is breathtaking- _“I’m close- I’m so close. Please don’t stop.”_

 

And Bruce didn’t touch his cock, only moves _faster, deeper,_ and his toes curl from the pleasure coursing through his veins. The coil in his gut tightening and Clark can almost _taste_ it. _There, so good._ He feels like Bruce is a pianist playing the keys of each vertebra in his spine and instilling pleasure in each bone until they both reach crescendo. Clenching his ass to feel that length moving inside of him.  The final note hitting him when Bruce groans, _“Kal.”_

 

And for a moment Clark thinks time momentarily stills- then the jump to the abyss, and Clark knows he was moaning so loud, _louder_ when cum hits his insides in long, thick spurts and Bruce rides their orgasm and continues to fuck him; his own cum hitting their chest and he rubs up at Bruce’s abdomen. He was arching his back, neck exposed where Bruce muffled his own grunts, hand holding Clark’s hips so tight- and if _only_ he could leave a mark.

 

They came down from the high in short pants and calming hearts, Clark noticed his own slowing faster than his lover’s and he smiles, pulling his husband in for a gentle kiss. _There aren’t a lot of things that can raise his own heartbeat-_ he places a hand on Bruce’s chest, enjoying the sound of the steady beating of his heart. Letting out a low groan when the man pulled out and reaches for something on the floor.

 

Clark frowns, “Is that my shirt?”

 

Bruce just smirks as he cleans them up, only looking at the piece of clothing in his hand when he’s done, “Yes-” he chuckles at the look Clark gave him, throwing the shirt back to the floor and crawls up to press a chaste kiss on his husband’s firmly closed lips- “We’ll just buy you a new one.”

 

“No,” Clark said, avoiding the next kiss with a playful smile. He shifts so they are now lying properly on the bed and puts the covers around them, snuggling into Bruce’s arms, “I’ll just wear yours.”

 

Clark laughs at the groan that earns from Bruce. He is awfully aware that he has a thing for _that_ and Clark intends to use it at any given opportunity. Their gazes met and Clark paused, mesmerized.

 

He once wrote - before the League, before Batman, before crawling out of his own grave… even before he began wearing the family crest that has become a symbol of hope - that blue eyes will always be his favorite and that was until he fell in love with one who has brown eyes.

 

“I love you.” He whispers in the small space between them, like a secret - though it hardly is.

 

And Bruce feels warmth at the words, the familiar warmth of the same man who uttered them. And it has been _so cold_ for _so long_  he thinks that he will still be having difficulty at getting used to it, but for now- he can start at it. He rests their forehead together, “I love you too, Kal.”

 

But finally, _finally,_ Bruce has come to accept it and is no longer afraid to say it back.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp! what an attempt at writing porn, lmao. This is like a practice, so please tell me where I’m lacking oH GAWD.
> 
> ppl know what I say, #brucetopsclark2k17


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